


in this kingdom by the sea

by junietuesday25



Series: QLFC Entries [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Magic, Gen, How Do I Tag, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junietuesday25/pseuds/junietuesday25
Summary: He doesn’t even have time to study the person before he hears, “Avada Kedavra!” and a jet of green light soars toward him.The light slams into his chest, and Gunnar crumples to the ground....What—what’s happening?He looks down. Black, billowing robes float around him. And hishands.They’re rotten and grey.He’s hungry. He’s starving. Why is he starving?
Series: QLFC Entries [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616734
Kudos: 1





	in this kingdom by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> 2/9/20 i'll copy the original a/n in here at some point oops but anyway i'm highkey really proud of this? also my adhd ass wrote this whole thing with like, an hour before the round closed so even though it's so short i'm surprised this came out so well

Gunnar’s having a perfectly nice, peaceful day catching fish in the North Sea. The water is calm, the sun is bright, the air is cool, and the wind is blowing in just the right direction. And to top it all off, he’s caught a good load today. 

Until all of a sudden the sky goes dark and cloudy, and rain starts pouring down in droves.

Gunnar tries to sail back into stiller seas, but the wind is blowing him inextricably deeper into the storm as lightning crashes and thunder rumbles, the waves tossing him up and down. The storm must be magic, because otherwise he’d have definitely seen the storm clouds above. He’s frantic at this point—it was just supposed to be a fishing trip! His wife and children are waiting for him! He—

Then he sees a beacon, shining from up high and illuminating an island. _A lighthouse!_

“Help!” he yells, guiding his ship closer. “ _Help!_ ”

No response, but honestly, he wasn’t expecting anything. A few harrowing minutes of wrestling his ship through the storm, and he manages to anchor his ship by the island.

It’s…dark and foreboding. There’s a lopsided tower with broken windows, reaching high into the clouds. The grass is dead and withered, and when lightning flashes behind the building, he can see vague silhouettes inside, human but not quite.

Gunnar takes a step back. He—he can find another way out.

That’s when someone appears in front of him with a loud crack! that rends the air. He doesn’t even have time to study the person before he hears, “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” and a jet of green light soars toward him.

The light slams into his chest, and Gunnar crumples to the ground.

* * *

What—what’s happening?

He looks down. Black, billowing robes float around him. And his _hands._ They’re rotten and grey.

He’s hungry. He’s starving. Why is he starving?

There are more of him, floating through the building. Their breathing, along with his own, rattles and turns the air in front of their mouths icy. But he doesn’t need to breathe. There’s no sensation that goes with it, no feeling of sweet air filling his lungs—the action is only habit.

There’s something. Something so good. He wants it, he needs it.

A man directs them forward, a human, but there’s no need—he’s already going, he’s already there to see the woman standing on the shoreline and staring up at the tower with wide eyes.

He’s the first one there, thank Ekrizdis—who?—so he lowers his face to the woman’s and inhales.

Yes. Yes, this soul, it’s amazing. He loves the taste of the happy memories that spark flutters in his own mind, glimpses of tiny humans and pressing his mouth to a different woman’s, not for the sake of sucking out her soul. He needs more of this, more, more, _more—_

* * *

Years and years and years pass. Ekrizdis, their creator, disappears one day and others find their island. There are lots of delicious souls for a while, souls that make him _feel_ anything other than this perpetual inky numb, but they disappear too. Then even more years go by, and there are so many of them and so few souls, they’re so hungry, so, _so_ hungry—

One day they bring more humans in, and it’s heaven. So many souls, so alive, so fiery, the insanity adds spice and it’s an absolute _feast._ Some humans try to get away, but they never succeed—their souls are needed here. There’s a brief period where a few of them are sent to the mainland to track down an escaped criminal, but it’s only a fraction of their numbers that are allowed to go free. He stays on the island, wishing desperately to feast on the souls across the ever-stormy seas.

Until a boy appears, small and young and yet commanding and forceful. 

“Join me,” he says. “Join me, and you majestic creatures shall be able to feed all over England. You deserve more than to be locked away in Azkaban, letting your powers waste away. If we work together, you can have as many souls as you desire.”

As many souls? Yes, yes, they follow him, they need the souls. So when the boy comes back, snakelike now and radiating evil magic, they follow what he says and let some prisoners—because according to the man, that’s what they are—go, swarming out of the tower and flying to the mainland, buzzing with hunger and forming clouds of fog in their wake.

It’s even more wonderful here. So many souls, so many humans to feed upon, so many beautiful happy memories of dancing and stars and love, the elusive emotion that they don’t understand but crave the taste of anyway, they eat and eat and eat but even then it’s not enough, they need more, _more,_ more than the snakelike man can provide. Instead of sending them out individually, he lets them roam free to feast on magical and mundane alike. Witches and wizards are better, the magic inside crackles and hisses and makes souls so much sweeter, but any souls are worth sucking up. The summer is bountiful—they eat and reproduce and eat and reproduce without having to follow the orders of the prison masters and find all the escaped 

Then, the humans fight back. Not all of them can, just the magical ones, but glowing silver animals soar from the humans’ wands to trap them between their jaws or stomp them with hooves, or even just swirl around, leaving trails of silvery light that sting to the touch. They flee from the creatures in terror, in pain, and the snakelike man berates them, but that doesn’t matter, he’s a human, mostly. He doesn’t understand.

The snakelike man loses his war. They’re fine with it, he didn’t give them enough, he treated them like pawns in his silly little game.

But then the other humans try to round them up and send them back to the island. No, they can’t return, there aren’t enough souls there, so few souls is like _torture_ after these months of feasting. But they have the power of those creatures, they can’t help but run away and let themselves be corralled back onto that tiny island in the middle of the sea.

This time, there are barriers around the island, with humans and their silver animals pushing them back into the prison. There are no souls, and no way to find even a taste of happiness. All that’s left is the empty cold of soulless beings, wishing for more.


End file.
